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birds, nature, spirit

Who You Really Are

Could there be more
to this life we call “mine”
than a journey through space
or a story line?
More to life than the body can sense
than the mind can conclude
from experience
Does who we are begin with breath,
depend on form or end with death?
Strip away these roles, these names
and tell me what remains
And who you really are,
who you really are

We measure success
by the things we accrue
or the bonds that we form,
or the deeds we do
But these too shall pass,
as hard as we try
to hold on to form; form will die
But inherent in this dance of form
Is the chance to see what’s yet unborn
And the choice to throw this chance away
And be caught up in the play
of who we think we are,
who we think we are

This is your lifetime; it could end at anytime.
Where is your attention?
Where is your prayer?
Where is your song?

In a fortunate life,
comes a call to be free
From the cycle of bondage and misidentity,
to wake from the dream
and finally realize
the truth of one’s being
before the body dies
So before the final scene is past,
see the screen on which it’s cast.
See what’s seeing this me and you.
And then you will see who…
who you really are, who you really are
Who you really are, who we really are